Trying to Find a Way
by PHYSCHOCHIC3
Summary: Berwald's been giving this strange look to Tino, and he's intent to find out what that expression is all about… Modern AU.


**WRITTEN A LONG TIME AGO, SO SORRY IF IT SUCKS. HOPE YOU ENJOY THOUGH!**

**Summary: Berwald's been giving this strange look to Tino, and he's intent to find out what that expression is all about… Modern AU.**

Trying to Find a Way-by PS

I've always loved Berwald, even when he scared me half to death.

We belonged together after all, he helped me escape the clutches of the "horrible Dane," and he stayed with me always to keep me safe. It was always sort of romantic, even when we weren't together.

Now though, that we are dating, actually, affianced and we have taken in Peter, everything is different.

I'm even more in love with my Swede, but, I don't know if I can say the same for him.

He doesn't treat me any different, not really, but, sometimes he gets this look in those light eyes, and I wonder what he's thinking.

Maybe he's tired of me; maybe he's trying to find a way to say that he's moved on, either way, I don't want to let him go, not after what we've been through together, not after what I had to go through to get him.

I won't give him up, not without a fight…

"Can't I stay the night?!" Peter squealed, his face red and his palms sweaty where he hung onto my arm, my sleeves were rolled up so that his skin stuck to mine.

I glanced down at him, that patient smile that Berwald said I had on my face, "you know that Mr. Kirkland wants to see you too. It's his turn to see you this weekend."

That was the custody agreement; Peter's first adoptive father, Arthur Kirkland, wanted to see his son every other weekend; I knew that the Englishman cared, even though he usually acted annoyed around Peter.

Peter pouted at me now, his hand moving down to grasp at the slightly frilly apron I wore, "he doesn't even like me. He just does it to seem nice."

I stopped mid-stride, moving down, heedless of the basket of laundry I was holding; I was at Peter's eye level now, crouching down, "Peter Kirkland, you know he loves you, so don't even try that nonsense on me."

He looked ashamed then, bowing his little head down and wiping at his eyes, "it's just…why did he give me up then?" It was adorable how his accent went thicker with his anger.

I sighed and placed the laundry to the side and swept him into my arms to hug him; I put one finger under his chin and lifted it, staring into his teary blue eyes, "your Father is very busy, and he didn't think it was fair on you; he thought that we could take care of you better than he could. And though we love you very much, we still know that he's your Father and wants to spend time with you too."

Peter sniffled and blinked, "I think…I'll go get my bag then."

I smiled at him and let him go, picking up the basket and turning around, gasping as I saw my fiancée leaning against the door jamb. "God, don't do that Berwald, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

He unfolded his arms and scratched at the back of his neck, almost looking sheepish, "sorry. You were sweet with Peter just then." His accent was more pronounced now, when he was embarrassed, something that Peter must have caught from him.

I smiled gently, "it's alright. And I wouldn't call it 'sweet,' more like…truthful." I nudged past him, going into the laundry room and glancing down at the still flapping dog door that led out to the backyard. I pointed, "Hana's gone out?"

Berwald nodded, "when's Kirkland supposed to be here?" He shifted uneasily, as though he wanted to say something more, but didn't.

I eyed him warily and poured the dirty clothes into the washer, "in just a little while, I'm not sure who he'll have with him." It depended; Alfred was Arthur's American boyfriend, so that was a huge possibility of him coming along; but, then again, Francis, who was Arthur's old frenemy might be there too, as the Brit sometimes gave him a ride to work, since they both worked in the same district.

Berwald didn't looked pleased about that, "he needs to tell us beforehand so we can prepare Peter."

"Or prepare ourselves?" I grinned over at my boyfriend, starting the washer and moving to the dryer to unload the recently finished laundry. I opened it up and started removing some of the newly dried clothes and folding them. I hated laundry day.

Berwald shrugged at me, "both," he said, answering my earlier question.

I smiled widely up at him, my hair in my eyes; it all seemed to domestic, "what are we going to do without him here this weekend?" I had a few ideas, but, recently, Berwald hadn't done a lot of touching me. Disappointing.

My fiancée just stared at me with that look on his face again, the one where I had no idea what he was thinking about. I dutifully ignored him once more and went back to folding clothes, imagining that the soft fabric was my boyfriend's hair. This was what my life had become.

"Tino I-" Berwald was cut off when the doorbell rang, a loud and oppressive noise that broke the suffocating silence a bit.

I put on a fake smile, "that must be him. I'll go get it, if you could go and retrieve Peter." I left without a proper answer…

It turned out that all three of them, Arthur, Alfred, and Francis, and come along to get Peter. I stared at them, "Hello."

Alfred grinned broadly at him, "hey Finny! How's it going?" He barged right in, obviously not looking for an answer, not that I expected it.

Arthur looked apologetically at me, "sorry about that wanker. I tried to come and get Peter alone, but they wouldn't leave me to it. We won't stay long though, so no need to worry about that." I hadn't been.

"Oui," Francis cut in, lecherously looking at me, "we'll leave you and that hulking hunk Berwald to do some non-PG things-"

He was cut off when Berwald suddenly appeared at the base of the stairs, glaring down at the Frenchman. I sighed, "is he coming down?" Berwald nodded and at just the same time Peter ran down the stairs energetically.

"Hey foggy!" He shouted at Arthur, his small book bag being flung about in his hands as he dramatically stopped by the gathered group of us.

Arthur frowned, "hello Peter. Are you ready to go?" I could tell that he longed to hug the small child, but Peter's behavior clearly spoke against it.

The boy smiled up at him, "yep. Is Alfred here?"

As if summoned, the American appeared from the kitchen, a piece of leftover cake from dessert in his hand, "hey little man! You ready to play some ball?"

Peter jumped up and down excitedly, "yeah, yeah! Let's go already then!" He ran out of the still open door, brushing past Francis, who sighed.

"I'll follow him," the Frenchman said long-sufferingly, "so he doesn't break anything."

Arthur nodded at him, "thanks." He watched the other man go before turning back to us, "he's surprisingly like an uncle to Peter, it's amazing."

Alfred swallowed the last bite of chocolate cake and wrapped an arm around his boyfriend, "it's weird, but whatever. Nice to see you guys again." He went out the same way that the other man did before him.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "I don't think I can apologize for lost brain cells," he laughed half-heartedly, "um…look, thanks for letting me see Peter. I miss him. Hopefully you guys can actually get a much deserved break. See you on Monday."

He was out the door before either one of us could say anything; I blinked rapidly, "um…ok. That was weird."

Berwald shrugged behind me and went to close the door, "yeah. What do you want to do?"

I ignored the question, "I have to finish the laundry and see what damage Alfred did to the kitchen." I went to move when my thin wrist was caught in the grasp of one large Swedish hand.

I paused and turned to look up into Berwald's face, "is something the matter?" That stupid look was back on his face, and it unnerved me.

"No," he said quietly, looking me in the eye, "not with me anyway."

My expression changed then, and I glared up at him, "what is that supposed to mean?" My voice was harsh and unusual, but I couldn't really bring myself to care.

He stared down at me, hovering, "you've changed Tino, you've been cold towards me lately; I can see past those fake smiles, and I can see the pain that's in your eyes. What is it?"

My exterior cracked, and the emotions I usually kept hidden were set free, "are you cheating on me?" It all came out in a jumble of words, but he understood me anyway.

"W-what?" Those sea-jade eyes went huge, but I continued on, not caring that his hand was still trapping me.

"You always have this look in your eye when I say something vaguely sexual sounding to you! You act as though you can't stand it!"

Next thing I knew, I was being pressed up against the wall by a very angry looking Berwald, his hand still clamped down on my wrist, his arms caging me in, his breath hitting my face with every exhale.

"How can you say that," he said, staring down at me, "I would never cheat on you. Why would I? You're perfect."

I glared, opening my mouth to speak when his other hand came up and went down over my mouth, blocking the words; my vile look intensified.

He didn't seem to care, "just let me talk. I look at you like that because I cant' stand it. I want you every moment of every day. I want to be with you, be in you, always. But I can't, and it kills me."

That look was there again, but it was softer; I had never seen him look like this before.

With my own free hand I reached up and gently tugged his hand off of my mouth, "Berwald…" I whispered, my anger gone.

I knew what that look was now. It was love and lust all combined in one soft expression.

A grin tugging at my lips I reached up and tugged my lover down by his hair, enjoying the discontented expression he gave me before I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed the feel of his firm lips against my own pouting ones. It was a kiss of heat and lightning and I enjoyed every minute of it.

Berwald led us upstairs quickly, a trail of clothes like breadcrumbs following in our wake as he tossed us down on the bed naked, making it bounce.

I was a distraction, I know, as I moaned and touched his skin as he prepared me, his thick fingers pressing against my now slippery entrance and making my cheeks flush.

"More," I whispered wetly against his lips as he entered me painfully slow, the pressure not enough, the size of just his head not enough.

He gave in to me eventually, after my protests of 'I'm not going to break;' and it was bliss. We both were too strung out and heated to last long but it didn't matter.

I laid in his arms afterward, the sweat and essence of our earlier session sticking to both of our skin; my fingers trailing over Berwald's chest where I laid half-way across his chest, his fingers buries in my hair.

"I love you," I murmured to him quietly in the low hum of tension in our bedroom, "I probably don't tell you enough, but God knows I love you more than anything else…except maybe Peter."

The chuckle that ran through his chest had shivers running down my sweat-cooled body; "I love you too," he said back, his accent present and oh, so addictive. "I love you more than the moon and stars and everything else…except our child."

That shiver went into full body tingle mode then; I sat up on one elbow and looked down at my lover, "he really is ours, isn't he?"

Berwald smiled up at me, a rare sight, "that's what I've been trying to find a way to say."

I rolled my eyes and simply leaned down to kiss the tip of his nose, content…until the dog came in…

**JUST A CUTE ONE-SHOT. THANKS FOR READING IT ALL THE WAY THROUGH! LEAVE A REVIEW AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!**


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